


The Durmstrang Connection

by hiddenhibernian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Exploding reindeer, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Magic, Sauna, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25152985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddenhibernian/pseuds/hiddenhibernian
Summary: Professors Snape and Granger are sent on a mission to improve Hogwarts' relations with Durmstrang. Unfortunately, nobody told their notoriously touchy hosts they are not a couple. Severus isn't too keen on finding out what Minerva would do if he wrecks her pet project. He would very much like to know why Viktor Krum is skulking in the corridors, however...
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 19
Kudos: 154





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my wonderful beta lovelyluce, who did a heroic job on this – it was a new experience to edit and write simultaneously, and great fun! This was originally written for the 2018 SS/HG giftfest, for fawkesylady394: I failed to deliver funny smut, but I'm hoping the story will make you laugh. Or chuckle, at least. 
> 
> Finally: don't drink vodka in a sauna. Trust me on this.

It bore all the hallmarks of a rare but fearsome beast, the Grand Hogwarts Disaster. 

Severus ticked them off on his mental list: Ministry involvement. Uncharacteristic keenness from the Board of Governors. And, Merlin help them, the international angle. The only thing missing was a Weasley involved somewhere – despite having failed to formalise the transition at an early stage, perhaps Professor Granger counted as an honourable one by now. 

She certainly had the jumpers to prove it. 

The woman herself was beaming. “I would be delighted to go, Minerva.”

“Thank you, my dear.” The Headmistress' smile was rather pointedly addressed to only one of the two people sitting on her visitor chairs. 

Severus took another biscuit. 

“What about you, Severus – will you serve your school when she needs you?” Minerva asked with a rather strained voice.

Severus crunched down on the unfortunate baton of shortbread he had selected. Loudly. 

“Since when is Hogwarts a she?” he asked. 

“It's a simple question. All that is required is a simple answer, not a debate on the nature of sentient works of architecture.” 

There was a loud creaking noise, the kind that makes the heroine jump three feet in gothic horror stories. 

“However marvellous they may be,” Minerva added. 

Severus sighed. This was obviously going to end in catastrophe, just like the attempt to put on an end-of-year school play, and who was going to get the blame? 

Not the peachy keen Transfiguration Professor sitting next to him, that was for sure. He risked a glance at her and was almost blinded by her brilliant smile. He could get weeks of watching Hermione, talking to Hermione, without the interfering busybodies that littered the staffroom at Hogwarts –

It would be folly. Besides, there was the actual mission. 

“You know my views on international cooperation,” he said. 

“I'm not sure 'it's bad' qualifies as views, Severus, but you have made your standpoint quite clear.” Minerva continued to level her stare at him. 

It was a good stare. Governors and High Inquisitors had quaked for less. 

“I'm very busy at Hogwarts.” He should not have said that – any smidgen of weakness and she would hone in on it like a piranha. He should have –

“As you're not going, I will have to accompany Hermione. I trust I can leave the Parent Outreach Day in your capable hands? We will be quite busy this year – I believe forty children and their parents have accepted already.” 

Then again, perhaps Severus should not let the prospect of certain failure put him off. One should stick to what one knew, after all, and he had plenty of experience in that area. Being a celebrated war hero, however, was rather new to him (mainly because he avoided anyone who might be expected to fawn over him), and having to be polite to parents while being thanked – _thanked_ – for his efforts during the war would be far worse. 

“Very well, then. I will go. As long as it is perfectly clear that I think it is a terrible idea.”

“Excellent, Severus. Thank you.” Minerva allowed a small smile to graze her thin lips, and Severus could see her hand twitch. If he hung around there may be a dram later, _mais pas devant les jeunes professeurs_. 

That kind of intimacy could only be earned with time, and Hermione Granger had only been back at Hogwarts for three years. 

For the last year and a half, Severus had done his level best to bury his desires for a completely different kind of intimacy with her beneath a thick layer of should-know-better, twice-her-age and don't-even-think-about-it. 

It was hardly going to be any different at Durmstrang, so why did he feel like his Slytherins had just won the House Cup?

* * *

“Welcome to Durmstrang.” 

Headmistress Valkeapää was five foot nothing and seemed to be around the same age as Severus. She was dressed in blue robes, with colourful patterns in bright red and yellow adorning the edges. Her dark eyes gave nothing away as she watched Severus and Hermione perform the usual post-Portkey routine of gasping for fresh air (fortunately in plentiful supply as the windows were wide open) and making sure all body parts were still attached. 

“Thank you. Our headmistress sends her regards. I am Severus Snape, and this is my colleague, Hermione Granger.” He bowed slightly and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione doing the same. 

“You are most welcome. I hope your stay will be enjoyable. If you would please follow me, I will introduce you to the staff.” Her English was less accented than Karkaroff's had been, and the subtle air of concealed power was very different to her predecessor's demeanour – all fur coats and no knickers, as his grandmother would have said. 

Valkeapää had been appointed as a moderniser, hence rapprochement with Hogwarts, but it remained to be seen what her vision for Durmstrang was, for all that she made the right noises about accessibility and openness. Even if her intent was sincere, it didn't mean that the school would follow her – Severus knew only too well what it was like to manage a school that was set against its headmaster. 

They walked through an ante-room towards a large set of double doors, and to Severus' entire lack of surprise they opened into a great hall. 

There was little time to observe how the roughly hewed stone walls compared to the ones at Hogwarts as the teachers were lined up to greet them. 

Zimmermann, Johansson, Winter, Anttila, Krum... Severus did a double-take, but this version was slightly different (the single eyebrow firmly in situ, however) – perhaps a cousin? He continued to bow or shake hands when one was offered, and soon reached the end of the line. 

Hermione got stuck chatting halfway through, while Severus waited in awkward silence with Valkeapää. 

No obvious topic of conversation suggested itself – he had been acquainted with her predecessor (two of them, strictly speaking, but he was not going to bring up Karkaroff). It seemed in bad taste to mention Georg Jensen when everyone present knew he had been ousted to make way for Valkeapää. He had been good enough to clear the stain on the school's record left by Karkaroff, but then his usefulness had apparently ended. 

Severus was familiar with the main fault lines of the debate and had even envied Durmstrang for having the luxury to indulge in existentialism. Fifteen years after the war, Hogwarts was still in damage limitation mode. Every year new students arrived, affected by a war they were too young to remember. 

Sometimes, Severus would give a rather large piece of his soul not to have to fight the same bloody battle all over again. 

“Naturally, we are not at full force right now – some of our colleagues are enjoying their holidays elsewhere,” Valkeapää said when Hermione had rejoined them. 

She seemed to have no compulsion to fill the silence with idle chatter. Severus approved in principle, but the lack of small talk felt somewhat strained halfway through the tour. There was only so much Hermione could say about bare stone-clad halls and the mountain scenery visible through the wide-open windows. 

“This will be your room,” Valkeapää announced in front of a particularly forbidding door – it even had tiny mountain trolls carved on it. 

“How will –“ Severus started to say at the same time as Hermione launched into: 

“But –“ 

He recollected himself at the same time as her toes hit his shins. 

“How delightful,” Hermione said with determination, while Severus did his level best to smile as they stepped inside. 

The smile became more of a death grin as he noticed the gigantic four-poster bed. It dominated the room to the extent it was a wonder three people even fit in – a cursory examination revealed there was no bunk bed hiding behind it, and only one other door which opened into the adjoining bathroom. 

“Dinner will be served at six – I will ask someone to follow you to the staff dining room.” Valkeapää closed the door behind her. 

It wasn't quite how Severus had imagined it would be like to be alone in a bedroom with Hermione Granger. 

“I don't believe this!” Hermione was flitting around like a mad thing, looking for hidden doors in the wardrobes. Perhaps she was hoping to find a quicker way back to England because the witches were definitely on their side. 

She came to a standstill, and the full force of her attention hit Severus like a hammer blow. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“What?” This was below the belt. “Why didn't you say something?” 

“I'm not the senior representative for Hogwarts, as you were so keen on reminding me this morning. It was your job to inform them we're not a bloody couple, not mine!”

Severus felt a familiar falling sensation in his stomach. Naively, he had expected the trip to last for more than forty-five minutes before things started falling apart. “To maximise our chances of success we should play to our strengths,” he tried. “Clearly, you're the more diplomatic –“

“If you're under the illusion you can manipulate me into doing the glad-handling for you, you have another think coming, Mr International Envoy!” She snorted, making her contempt for the concept abundantly clear. 

“I can't go out there and tell the headmistress there's been a misunderstanding and we're not a couple – she'll send us straight back to Hogwarts!” 

Mercifully, Hermione appeared to accept that. She simply huffed and started rooting around in her bag. 

Once she had secured their cooperation, Minerva had been excruciatingly clear on the lack of trust between Durmstrang and Hogwarts, and the extreme levels of delicacy required to not to return relations back to the starting point. Reading between the lines, it was not a mission she would have entrusted to Severus (or Hermione, for that matter), if their status as war heroes had not made it imperative they should represent their school. 

Durmstrang considered Hogwarts tainted by the Dark Arts, and if they were going to agree to the numerous propositions Minerva had come up with (“Teacher exchanges, Severus – we could offer career paths instead of having to wait until someone dies! Research projects!”), they needed to be convinced that Hogwarts would not produce another Dark Lord. 

Severus could see their point; part of the reason they were here was to copy some of the measures put in place after Grindelwald and Karkaroff. Still, it would have been easier if their hosts, notoriously prickly to start with, wouldn't have been disposed to look for excuses to send him and Hermione packing. 

The only mercy was that no one had even mentioned the Triwizard Tournament so far. Severus was relieved; he would rather run stark naked through the Great Hall of Durmstrang shouting “Up Hogwarts!” 

Nevertheless, if it came to it he would not shirk his duty. Even when rated against stiff competition, staging a tournament risking the lives of teenagers to promote the glory of their schools had to rank amongst the daftest concepts in the wizarding world. 

Never again would Severus let it happen on his watch. 

There was a rather long list of things that applied to. 

Hermione was less prone to getting sucked into fruitless reflections, so it shouldn't have been a surprise that she was ready to go down to dinner before Severus even had enlarged his trunk. There had been some banging of doors, he realised, and the steam emanating from the bathroom suggested she had taken a bath. Or a shower, he corrected himself, once he had beheld the glory of stainless steel and polished granite inside. 

“I will just go and – just go – Excuse me for a moment.” Severus fled into the bathroom. Sharing a room with Granger was far too complicated, and it wasn't even night time yet. 

He emerged dressed in fresh robes, clinging to the scraps of dignity remaining to him. 

Hermione was pointedly reading a book, cross-legged on the ginormous bed. “Shall we?” she asked. 

“I suppose we must. Unless you want to head into the wilderness and scavenge for dinner instead?” he asked hopefully. 

The vast, open landscape outside seemed infinitely more attractive than running the gauntlet of being polite to the Durmstrang faculty, even with the ship they had used to travel to Hogwarts towering over the lake like The Flying Dutchman was paying a visit.

**To be continued...**


	2. 2

On the way back to their room, Severus was barely able to put one foot in front of the other. All his available brainpower was consumed by the prospect of sharing a bed with Hermione Granger. She was almost twenty years younger than him; she was the brightest and kindest person he knew; she was everything he wanted and never could have, and all the reasons it was a preposterous idea only made him want it more. 

Just once, he wanted to feel the heat of her body and smell her hair on the pillow next to him – that was all he asked for. Just once. Any awkwardness he might have felt had been absorbed by the cloud of hazy want.

It wasn't distinctly sexual – he wasn't completely stupid, once that particular Pandora's box had been opened, he would only be fit for an asylum in a very short period of time – it was just want. 

He wanted, oh, how he wanted... 

The expression of long-suffering martyrdom on Hermione's face quickly brought him back to earth. 

“I will of course sleep in the bath,” he said with the speed of a man mortally afraid of what else might come out of his mouth. 

“I swore I would never do this again,” Hermione told her battered beaded bag. “Otherwise, what was the bloody point of winning the war? Other than defeating Voldemort etc.,” she added with the compulsive honesty many Slytherins would consider a fatal character flaw. 

She pulled out a long, unwieldy parcel several times longer than her little bag. The musty smell increased as she opened it, pulling out several poles. 

“Right. I think it'll fit if we move the bed a bit. Levitate on three?” 

Severus belatedly realised what was going on. “You're putting up a tent? In here?” 

“Not a tent. The tent. The one I spent most of that horrible year in. Or perhaps you prefer to sleep in the bath?” 

Cowed into silence, Severus helped her put up the tent, anchoring it to the floor with magic, and watched her climb in through the flap. The room felt curiously lonely after she had gone, even though she was technically in there with him.

* * *

“I had you pegged as an early riser, actually. Guess appearances are deceptive, or maybe you chug a custom-made potion or two on the way to breakfast.” 

Sensible as always, she had been careful not to take him by surprise, but as soon as Severus had woken up sufficiently to be coherent Hermione's face appeared in his line of vision, beaming at him from above like the sun. 

“Aightrwbldm,” he replied eloquently, and escaped to the bathroom. This was becoming a trend, he noted as he splashed ice-cold water on his face. 

Quickly untangling his hair, he wondered what the hell had happened to his alarm, before deducing that tossing and turning half of the night probably hadn't been conducive to getting a good night's sleep. His restlessness had of course been due to the unaccustomed brightness outside, and entirely unrelated to the inhabitant of the tent pitched in the middle of the floor. 

“Good morning,” Severus said smoothly as he re-entered their room, trying to channel Lucius. 

His hopes that they could pretend the previous exchange had never happened were dashed immediately. 

“Are you feeling well?” Hermione asked. “You seem a bit... perky this morning.” 

“Let's just go down to breakfast – I'm sure I'll be restored to my usual cheerful self once I meet our gracious hosts.” That piece of sarcasm seemed to reassure her at least; he even got a half-smile in return.

* * *

“We thought we would show you the lake today,” Valkeapää said once Severus and Hermione had picked their way through a literal smorgasbord of sandwich accoutrements. More traditional breakfast food like yoghurt, boiled eggs and cornflakes had been hidden away at another table, so it was with loaded plates they returned to the sleek, modern table in the middle of the teachers' dining room. 

Severus deduced it must adjust itself to the number of attendants, as two available seats had appeared since he arrived at breakfast. He sat down between Hermione and a large, balding man he recognised as Arne Johansson, the Dark Arts Professor. At Durmstrang, they didn't bother with the Defence bit. 

“Did you sleep well? This time of the year can be a bit difficult – just wait until November though, and you'll sleep like a child!” Johansson had a big, hearty laugh that went well with his rounded belly. 

“Hogwarts is quite far north for the British Isles, but I certainly noticed the difference. I imagine it's different if one is born here?” Severus didn't think anyone could be offended by that, not even the glum-looking woman across the table. 

“You'll have to ask someone else about that – I'm from Stockholm! Hasn't got much easier in the last forty years, anyway – maybe it will click when I'm coming up on fifty.” Johansson laughed again. 

“It's certainly to our advantage that the students don't spend the summer here. Most people who live this far north adjust their activity levels to the season, and I'm sure none of us would like to see what they would get up to during the long summer nights,” Hilde Jørgensen said. 

Severus remembered she taught English and Muggle Studies. Watching her on the other side of Hermione, knitted cardigan and glasses on a string coupled with a very familiar look of patient kindness confirmed his previous impression. Hilde would be right at home with Pomona and Poppy, and could probably be trusted to do whatever she considered best for the students in her care. 

Laying eyes on the violently patterned silk dressing gown next to her for the first time, Severus started. Above the profusion of fluorescent flowers nature only could dream of, the head of a young man was nestled. He smiled at Severus when he found himself under scrutiny, which only served to make the latter even more distrustful. 

“Professor Snape, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. I wasn't here last night, so unfortunately I missed your arrival. I'm Rupert Langley-Witherstone, by the way –“

Of course he was. 

Severus nodded curtly, the surname supplying the last piece of the puzzle. The Langley-Witherstones were everything he had once aspired to be: rich, well-connected, successful... and, unlike the Malfoys, people actually liked them. They were happy to marry Muggle-borns and had navigated the wars with their usual aplomb. Rupert hadn't been born with a silver spoon in his mouth; as metaphors went, it was more of a soup ladle. 

It was slightly unusual to find one of them at Durmstrang, but then it was Hogwarts who was trying to woo the other school and not the other way around. It was just like a Langley-Witherstone to ditch their alma mater when it had the weaker hand. 

Speaking of which, Severus could not recall Rupert from Hogwarts. There had been one of them a few years ahead of Hermione, but that had been a girl – 

“My sister Arabella always spoke very highly of your classes, Professor. I remember coming back from Eton one year – when I tried to go to sleep, I found out she had set up a Potions laboratory in my bed –“ 

Langley-Witherstone continued the anecdote and got a few laughs at the end, but Severus was in no doubt as to its real purpose. Both visitors from Hogwarts now knew he was a Squib and apparently at ease with the fact, without any embarrassing explanations. If Severus had possessed even a tenth of the address required to manage that, the course of his life would have been very different. 

He almost wished Langley-Witherstone had been a fully-fledged wizard. It was uncomfortable pitying and envying him at the same time. 

“Shall we meet at the main entrance in half an hour?” Headmistress Valkeapää asked, rising from her chair. “The wind is cold today, so be sure to dress warmly. We'll be flying some of the way.” 

Severus hoped he was the only one to categorise the look of abject panic on Hermione's face correctly. 

They whispered furiously under their breath on the way back to their room. 

“I'm not going on a bloody broom!” 

“They're our hosts! It's a perfectly normal thing to suggest to a witch – did you think all students at Hogwarts are taught to ride a broom because of its pop-cultural significance?” Severus hissed back. 

“I don't give a toss – I'm not going on a broom!” 

“What do you propose then – do you want me to give you a lift?” 

Severus suddenly found himself several steps ahead of Hermione, who had come to a dead stop. 

“Yes, actually – that would be great. Thanks,” she said in her normal voice. 

“What?” 

“I don't trust brooms,” she explained patiently as if he were a little slow of understanding. “I trust you, however, so if you can bring me along that would be acceptable.”

“It would?” Severus said, doing nothing to redeem himself. 

“Yes. Can you do it?” 

Could he use the knowledge imparted by the Dark Lord to fly Hermione Granger around the Durmstrang grounds? There was no law against it, surely?

He said yes, wondering when life would return to normal again. Upon second thought, given that the normal state of affairs was Severus Snape being miserable, he wasn't too eager for it to resume.

* * *

“Kindly refrain from shouting 'Wheee!' on the way back. It is undignified,” Severus said as Hermione tumbled to the ground when they landed, finally releasing her death grip on his hand. The wind had left her with rosy cheeks and halo of unruly hair, and Severus thought she was beautiful. 

That was even before he considered that she had flown with him. 

She, who didn't trust the perfectly normal everyday connivances most witches and wizards relied on, trusted him to keep her safe in thin air. It was heady stuff – small wonder he had to resort to petty sarcasm to be able to say anything fit for public consumption. 

“I can make no guarantees – I almost understand people's obsession with Quidditch if it's like that.” Hermione's legs were still a bit unsteady, and the large grin on her face made Severus' knees weak too. 

“It is not remotely –“ he began, only to be interrupted by a dark-haired missile barging into Hermione. Severus had his wand pointed at the intruder before he could decipher the sounds emanating from what he subsequently deduced was a bear hug rather than an attack. 

“Viktor! I'm so glad to see you!” It came out at warp speed, interspersed by: 

“Hermy-own!”

The man Severus' keen intellect had discerned must be Viktor Krum actually had the temerity to lift her up and swing her around in his arms. That Yule Ball was more than half Hermione's life ago – surely this treatment was excessive. 

“Bogdana said you would be here, so naturally I fetched my broom, and – But where is your one? You didn't walk here, surely?”

Hermione actually blushed, and Severus felt a traitorous stab of triumph. 

“I –“ she began, but then the rest of the Durmstrang staff landed. 

Her explanation was cut short in favour of the traditional picnic argument whether uneven ground was preferable to sitting on lumpy stones. With magic, these drawbacks had no impact once the picnic was actually in full flow, but the charms required to amend the deficiencies of nature were different. 

Observing the rush to recommend one's favourite spell, Severus was reminded of the Tri-Wizard tournament once again. There had been the same ambition to at least appear to be collaborative while making sure there was no doubt one's own solution was the best. 

Declining to take part in the discussion – spells were hardly the most refined form of magic, in any case – Severus edged himself closer to Krum, who was speaking earnestly to his namesake among the staff. 

“Professor Snape,” Krum said with a bow. 

Severus had always suspected Karkaroff made his students do it as some sort of taunt, so he responded in kind. “Mr Krum.” 

“Professor Snape, my sister Bogdana tells me you have made many repairs to Hogwarts. May I ask, what of the library – “

It was easy to tell Krum about the restoration of Hogwarts while watching the picnic hubbub with Hermione in the middle. Unfortunately, Krum could watch too. 

“She is happy, yes?” Krum asked after Severus had finished telling him about the spells needed to restore the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall. 

There is no fool like an old fool, Severus reminded himself and resolved to mind where he let his eyes rest during the rest of the visit. Krum was no dunderhead; unlike many of Severus' former students, he was perfectly capable of putting two and two together. 

“Yes,” he admitted eventually, having given the matter honest consideration. “She is.” 

It had not been easy to get used to Hermione being on the Hogwarts staff. All new teachers were annoying in their own way. Naturally, she had excelled at that, as she did at everything else. 

Occasionally, when he had been needled by a particularly ill-considered initiative, Severus had noticed his older colleagues sharing amused looks. He had been grateful for the tacit understanding that ruled in the Hogwarts staffroom: one's youthful infractions, whether as a student or a teacher, were not held against one. 

That did not hold true for those whose stupidity had stretched to acquiring Dark Marks, obviously, but it had spared Severus from embarrassing comparisons with the enthusiastic Professor Granger. 

Like many new teachers, she had tried to do everything at once. Unlike most of them, time had done little to dilute her eagerness. It had mellowed her: by her third year, she was visibly less nervous than the students during the exams. 

Severus recognised it because he felt the same. Hermione was at home at Hogwarts, in every sense of the word. There was space to be one's true self. That was why he had stayed after the war, and he suspected it was the reason she had returned. 

That sense of belonging had brought them all the way to the edge of the Arctic, doing the best they could for their school. 

“Good,” Krum said. “I am glad.” 

Hermione joined them as if being the centre of their mutual attention had drawn her there. Stranger things had happened; they were both powerful wizards and magic was as adaptable as life itself. 

“I'm afraid I may have to hand in my notice to Minerva and apply for a job here instead,” she announced, and Severus' heart stopped for half a second. 

“Is it the opportunities for extended broom rides that attract you?” he managed to ask with his normal voice, once he had noticed the dimple in her cheek. 

She shuddered. “No, thank you. What do you say to weekly boarding, though?” 

Severus glanced at his watch (it may be Muggle, but it cut down on unnecessary wand-waving) “If we leave now, we could catch Minerva before she goes down to dinner. If she is destined to lose two of her senior staff members, we had better alert her immediately.” 

Krum was looking between them, a bewildered smile on his face. “Surely you joke, yes?” 

“Sadly we do, Viktor,” Hermione said and patted his arm. “I won't deny the prospects of sending the little blighters off to their parents every weekend doesn't fill me with rapture, though.” 

When Severus thought she had mellowed, he meant 'acquired a suitable level of cynicism'. 

“What?” 

Severus took pity on Krum. “Remember what you used to get up to at school – Never mind. Remember the Weasley twins from your Hogwarts stay? Two redheads even more similar than the standard versions, hellbent on causing mischief. Would you like to be responsible for them twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week during term time?” 

“I suppose I would rather not.” 

“Believe me, you would not. The novelty of trying to guess what fresh disaster has caused you to be woken up at 3 AM wears off rather quickly,” Severus informed him. 

The current crop of students hadn't even been born until after the war. Although the after-effects still reverberated through the Hogwarts student population, it made for a welcome reduction to the number of night wakings. Unfortunately, even students with stable home lives and no war-related family history got into ill-judged relationships (any teenage relationship was ill-judged in Severus' view, but what did he know?), had fights with their friends, made up with their friends and threw midnight parties, got hit with a rogue enchantment and spouted horns that wouldn't go away, got an allergic reaction to Firewhisky or encountered any number of calamities. 

All of which seemed to happen at 3 AM, rather than at a civilised hour in the afternoon, say. 

Hell, Severus would even settle for seven o'clock in the morning, but of course all little buggers were still asleep then. Apparently, it wasn't proper teenage drama unless it involved dragging one's hardworking Head of House out of bed. 

Hermione seemed to believe further explanations were needed. “It's all well and good being a teacher, Viktor, but the ever so pleasant Headmistress seldom informs prospective candidates that they can wave goodbye to any aspirations to having a personal life in term time.” 

“I see. Somewhat similar to being a Quidditch manager, I think.” Krum kept looking at Hermione for what Severus felt was an indecent amount of time. Had he no interest in the picnic? Perhaps Severus ought to point out there were several varieties of salted herring. 

“How about this personal life during the holiday time – do you have one then?” Krum's single eyebrow lifted suggestively and Hermione laughed. 

Severus glowered in the background; after all, it was what he did best. Then he had to try the fermented herring. All other concerns fled before the stench.


	3. Chapter 3

Lying in the grass afterwards, Severus was trying to persuade his digestive system that the damned herring was not making a reappearance – it would send rather the wrong message to their hosts, and he had tasted worse. 

Granted, it had mainly been Potions where taste had been traded for potency, not actually food, but still. The flesh may be weak, but in this particular instance, it would submit to his will. 

Adjusting his body a fraction so he wasn't angled towards Hermione, he chalked up another instance of a stern talking-to to himself having absolutely no impact. Krum would notice sooner or later, and then where would Severus be? 

As if to reinforce that the battle was lost already Hermione laid head to head with Krum, talking softly from time to time. 

To distract himself, Severus sought refuge in nature. The landscape was very similar to Scotland – the mountains had the same rounded shape, and the profusion of heather surrounding their picnic looked no different than the British variety. The herd of fire-breathing reindeer grazing nearby was admittedly a purely local phenomenon, but Severus was prepared to swap it for Thestrals as long as they didn't singe his robes. 

It was the light that got to him. The wide open sky, with a horizon that seemed to stretch out endlessly in a white-blue haze. He had woken frequently in the night to find the sun setting but still present, lingering until it started rising again. 

Lying awake in the unaccustomed brightness, a man might easily start to ponder his life and his place in the world. Severus ruthlessly squashed any tendencies in that direction – he had enough to contend with as it was. 

“Mind if I sit down? I took the scenic route – getting a bit old for broom-riding these days!” 

Severus nodded, raising himself to a seated position as the man he had been looking for laboriously lowered himself to the tartan picnic blanket. 

At first glance, Arne Johansson was all easy-going joviality and loud laughs, but the more Severus saw of him, the more he appreciated what went on under the surface. Sharp glances were accompanied by casual questions that even Severus found deceptively easy to answer in greater detail than needed.

They discussed their joint subject for a while, quickly veering into dangerous territory. Where did one draw the line between equipping the students to defend themselves, and leading them down the path of practising the Dark Arts? 

Severus found himself on the brink of a declaration he had been expecting to make, but not so quickly or in such a setting. Nevertheless, it needed to be said. 

“In my considered opinion, that decision lies with the students themselves. One can practise the same bit of magic with a will to do harm or innocent curiosity. Which intent will prevail is largely determined by the time a student arrives in my classes, or certainly by the time they leave the school.” There had been other roads for the young Severus Snape to walk, he knew that now, but at the time his future had seemed have been decided for him already. 

He turned to face Johansson directly, the other man's face unusually serious. “At Hogwarts, we accept that, despite all our efforts, some of our students may choose to embrace the Dark Arts. That is why we consider it of utmost importance to equip all students to recognise Dark Magic for what it is, and to consider it their duty to combat it.” 

A two-pronged Gryffindor and Slytherin approach, in fact, just like its creators. 

“I see. And did you experience any Ministry interference – I mean assistance?”

A nearby reindeer hiccuped. Johansson threw himself to the ground surprisingly quickly for such a corpulent man, and Severus belatedly followed. Fortunately, the ball of fire missed him by three inches. 

“What was that?” 

“Oh, the reindeers gorge themselves on cloudberries at this time of the year. The pressure builds up in their stomachs or something – you'd need to ask Sofia about that!” 

Severus was not interested in the unknown Sofia. He would rather like to know if he was likely to be decapitated by fire, admittedly, but they had reached what was likely to be the crunch point of the negotiations between Durmstrang and Hogwarts so he could not afford to be sidetracked. 

Johansson, however, had clearly spotted an opportunity to wiggle out of uncomfortable discussions. 

“I'm firing up the sauna tonight, you can talk to her then. Did anyone show you where it is?”

* * *

The full horror of what sauna at Durmstrang entailed was not sprung upon him until he came across Hermione in their room, packing up her tent. 

“What's going on?” It may have been more like a bark than a question – surely she wasn't going to stay with Krum? Not on the first night of their reunion? Then he remembered two heads resting together, brown curls mingling, softening uncompromising black stubble, and his heart sank. 

“Oh, it's fine,” Hermione said, as breezily as if they were discussing the weather. “Viktor's sister explained to Lávra that there had been a misunderstanding, so I'm moving to another room. You can keep this one.” 

He noted the use of the headmistress' first name without comment. “Thank you very much. One diplomatic incident successfully avoided, apparently.”

“Viktor and Bogdana did find it rather funny, actually.” 

Severus could not let that pass without comment. “You told them? Despite knowing what is at stake?” He raised both eyebrows, for good measure. Less than twenty-four hours, and she had automatically sided with Krum? 

“Oh, sorry, I should have explained. It isn't a coincidence Viktor is here – I asked him to help us. Minerva knows.” 

“What makes you think he is 'helping us', rather than passing information to our hosts?” he demanded. 

“The fact that I have been assigned alternative accommodation without any injured feelings would be a rather good indication, I would have thought.” She thrust the poles into the mouldy bag with unwarranted violence. 

“It could be a ruse to win your trust.” 

“Bit of a waste then, since I trust him already.” She sighed and sat down on the bed. “Severus, I can guarantee that Viktor is helping us as best as he can. Naturally, he wants what's best for Durmstrang, too, but it happens to coincide with what we're trying to achieve in any case.” 

“What happens if he suddenly decides an alliance with Hogwarts is not in Durmstrang's best interests?” Severus did realise he was pushing it – they were discussing school cooperation, not wartime alliances. At worst, the consequences of failure was a bollocking from Minerva. 

It didn't matter: he had learnt the hard way not to assume people were trustworthy. Belatedly, it occurred to him that Hermione had too. 

“Then he will tell me, and his Quidditch team will have a Beater emergency or something,” she explained patiently. “And if you're about to ask me how I can know that, it's because we discussed it already. He's not some fly-by-night acquaintance, you know.” 

“Oh, I forgot – you danced with him at the Yule ball, didn't you?” Severus knew sneering wasn't helpful, but he could not have helped himself for a wagonload of Galleons. 

“Yes. And after that, he offered to let me and my parents come and live with him in Bulgaria during the war. As it happened I had already sent them to Australia, but he helped both Justin and Penelope Clearwater to protect their families. Now, will you help me roll up the canvas? I never got the knack of folding it tight enough with magic.” 

Severus picked up the nearest end and followed her instructions without arguing, even when he got tangled in the lines. 

Just once, it would have been nice to have his prejudices confirmed and not be left looking like a dunderhead.

* * *

“ – and then I told her I could bloody well see that, she had a tail sticking out from her forehead!” Langley-Witherstone couldn't contain his own laughter any longer and erupted in a somewhat equine laugh that should be confined to the stables. 

Severus adjusted his invisible towel, wrapped tightly around his invisible abdomen and thighs, and looked around for the vodka. The magically cooled bottle was perched precariously on the wooden bench that housed Severus, Arne Johansson, the headmistress of Durmstrang and Bogdana Krum. 

It almost made Severus wish for the good old days at Malfoy Manor, but not quite. He had not lost his senses entirely yet – traditionally, that part occurred when the sauna's occupants threw themselves into the freezing lake. 

Or so he had been told. 

A thin, freckled arm Severus recognised as belonging to Dorothea Winter, the teacher of Theoretical Dark Arts, grabbed the bottle of vodka while he still was considering how best to reach for it across Johansson's considerable bulk. 

The Swede was not Disillusioned anywhere, and he had not bothered with a towel either. Sauna etiquette dictated no underwear or swimming togs were used, as any well-informed traveller was aware, but one would have assumed that the natives would not be flaunting... whatever he was flaunting. Severus had studiously avoided looking. 

Fixing his eyes on the glass wall looking over the lake, he waited for Winter to finish and then coughed meaningfully in her general direction. 

“That's an awful cough, Severus – good thing there's little a good sauna session can't cure!” Johansson slapped him on the back, the inevitable accompanying laughter causing every part of his body within Severus' line of vision to bounce joyfully. 

The only saving grace was that there was no way that the invisible parts of Severus anatomy that should remain invisible in all but a very few social contexts would do anything to make him blush, even though Hermione was sitting on the bench below him, on the other side of Winter. The two Hogwarts emissaries had entered the sauna at the same time but through different doors (the local disregard for healthy separation between the sexes mercifully ended at the changing rooms), so he was well aware that she was also invisible between collarbones and knees. 

He had been wrong – there was a second redeeming factor at play. Krum had not shown up, so the extent of his hairiness remained uncharted. 

Maybe, if he drank just the right amount of vodka, Severus would manage to cling on to his sanity until the end of the evening. 

“Oi, Severus! Stop hogging the bottle!” Langley-Witherstone dispersed any lingering illusions. “Did I tell you about the time I was stuck in Łódź on business and fell in with a coven of Wiccans?” 

“No, but I'm sure I'm about to be enlightened,” Severus said through tightly compressed lips. He Summoned a bottle of uninspired local lager from the crate by the door to make up for the loss of the vodka. 

Hermione laughing very loudly at the mildly amusing punchline of Langley-Witherstone's story made the situation even worse, no mean feat. She was seated right beneath Langley-Witherstone's bony legs (at least someone had Disillusioned him, so he was showing some proper British modesty). 

As the man continued regaling them with a number of highly suspect stories, inevitably ending with an amusing one-liner, she leaned closer and closer. At the end of the story about the nun, the Irishman and the curse-breaker (an anti-climax, if anyone had cared to ask Severus) she was actually leaning against him. 

“Right,” Johansson said, standing up. He turned towards the British contingent, nearly ensuring the last thing Severus ever saw was a full frontal view of his privates. Severus happened to have raised his beer bottle right at the crucial time, preserving his retinas from having Johansson's genitalia branded on them forever more. 

Severus was so relieved he had escaped he didn't start paying attention until it was too late. 

“You're joining us, too? Good man!” Johansson's heavy hand landing on his back pushed Severus forward, putting his foot one bench further down to keep from crashing down to the floor. Fortunately for both of them, Professor Winter was already heading towards the door, leaving a path for him to follow. 

Behind him, Valkeapää was already descending the benches majestically, not caring a whit that she was stark naked. Severus looked away very quickly, hurrying onwards towards an uncertain fate. The last sound he heard from the sauna before the door swung shut was Hermione laughing at something Langley-Witherstone had said.

To his dismay, the makeshift procession's destination did not remain uncertain for much longer. 

They headed out on the jetty leading into the lake; not even Lockhart would have had much trouble deducing what was about to take place. 

Currently, Severus' modesty was protected by a disillusioned towel. He had left his wand in the changing room, cunningly disguised – exposing magical wood to heat and moisture was not a great idea. His command of wandless magic was sufficient in the unlikely event of an attack, but it did not stretch to make the towel visible while keeping his body invisible. He had no desire whatsoever to part from his towel. Abandoning it while he plunged into the lake as he soon would be obliged to do seemed too risky when a piece of cloth was the only thing preventing him from making a show of himself, like Johansson. 

Severus knew how these things went; one offered the foreigners to taste the Haggis or jump into the freezing lake, and one watched very carefully what they did. 

Backing down was not an option. 

He vaguely acknowledged that having drunk a little less vodka – and beer – at this point would have been helpful, but as regrets went it barely even registered.

He could bring the towel with him into the water, but then it would get wet and the Disillusionment could wash off. Or could it? 

The group was quickly approaching the end of the jetty. Someone started running, picking up the pace to throw themselves from the far end with an almighty splash. Severus was surprised to note it was not Johansson; the latter climbed down a ladder to start a series of brisk strokes, swimming into the centre of the lake. 

The crown on the jetty was quickly thinning out, apart from Bogdana Krum and Hilde Jørgensen who were taking turns doing running jumps off it. Magic brought them quite far into the lake until they landed amidst a lot of splashing. 

Bugger. 

It was now or never. Severus made the rash decision to abandon his towel and hang it on one of the poles attached to the jetty, trusting the dark to cover him. Unfortunately, he hadn't been paying attention to the jumpers. 

As he was balancing precariously at the edge, carefully winding the towel around a pole, Krum jumped off the jetty with enough force to bump it. 

The last thing Severus saw as he fell backwards was the bloody North Star, twinkling smugly at him.


	4. Chapter 4

The knocking on the door woke him up. When he had ignored it for several minutes it turned into banging, which made his head feel very sore for some reason. 

Severus was hiding his head under a pillow when the banging ceased. Finally. He could turn over as soon as his temples felt like they weren't going to explode any second, and go back to –

“SEVERUS SNAPE! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!” Hermione's magically enhanced voice bounced off the walls in his room, its tendency to shrillness multiplied a hundredfold. 

His grunt must have been audible from the outside because she reduced the volume a little. 

“I GIVE YOU FIVE MINUTES BEFORE I BREAK DOWN THE DOOR AND DRAG YOU DOWN TO BREAKFAST.”

It took Severus four and a half minutes to locate a headache potion, smooth down his robes (it saved time that he never had got undressed the night before) and douse his face with water. To his relief, his wand was on the bedside table. 

He was trying to get his brain back to operating speed to remember what the hell had happened last night as he stepped through the door to an impatiently waiting Hermione. Her foot was tap-tap-tapping against the floor, and he stared at it with horrified fascination as he rewound the previous evening. 

There had been ice-cold vodka, ice-cold water and the blazing heat of the sauna... and how in the name of Merlin's carbuncle had he ended up back in bed? Fully dressed, his bastard of a mind supplied just as he was considering who in the Durmstrang faculty he least would have liked to get their hands all over him. 

“What happened last night?” he asked Hermione like she was breaking curfew again. It never did to admit one was on the back foot in these situations. 

“We used the sauna with the faculty, don't you remember? You did have a bit of vodka, I suppose. I gave up before you came back and went for a walk instead – maybe you should try that the next time. We're here on business, you know.” 

In his befuddled state, it was like being savaged by a wet sheep. 

“Yes, indeed,” he said, trying to remember which way breakfast was. Hermione took pity on him and led the way. 

She could be very understanding like that, he recalled on the way to the teacher's dining room. Must be all those years running after Potter and Weasley.

* * *

Unfortunately for the shrivelled remains of Severus' brains, the day was earmarked for the serious stuff. He was struggling to remain perambul – perablu – walk, while Hermione barely could contain her enthusiasm. 

“No one from Hogwarts has got a full overview of the curriculum since 1729!” She was bouncing up and down, trying to keep pace with him when her natural impulse was to run head on. 

To his relief, Severus' natural cynicism made itself known in a flash of healthy distrust: “Assuming they tell us everything, of course.” 

“To be fair, we may not fall over ourselves to point out that Defence Against The Dark Arts was taught by someone possessed by Voldemort either.” 

No, Severus thought, we only fall over ourselves literally rather than metaphorically. 

The sooner he returned to his normal state, the better; if this abysmal hangover continued, he may actually utter one of the abysmal puns out loud.

* * *

Valkeapää was brisk, dispassionate and eerily reminiscent of Minerva even though they looked nothing alike. 

Severus hoped it wasn't because he was fool enough to believe competent women only came in one mould. There was just something about the cast of her mouth as if she had heard all the excuses he could possibly come up with and then some. 

Profoundly grateful the headache remedy had kicked in at last, he sat up straight and paid attention to the subjects that made up the curriculum at Durmstrang. French and German came as a bit of a surprise, as did Healing – he made a mental note to tell Poppy, wondering why it had never occurred to anyone at Hogwarts. 

Once Hermione had verified that both sexes attended classes in Domestic Spells, she made copious notes on the subject. She nodded eagerly when Valkeapää explained what was considered Practical versus Theoretical Dark Arts, while Severus could afford to let his mind wander slightly given his greater familiarity with the subject. 

When there was a lull in the barrage of information, Hermione asked the question that had been niggling away at Severus ever since he first considered it. 

“If you don't mind me asking, what language are classes taught in?” 

“English, of course,” Valkeapää said, looking slightly surprised. “It used to be in Latin, but we changed over in 1947. To be frank with you, it was a bit of a gamble. No one who was around back then predicted how widespread it would become in the Muggle world with the expansion of higher education.”

Post-Grindelwald, Durmstrang had been where Hogwarts was now: eager to disassociate itself from its former student and mistakes made under a previous regime. Latin made sense, too – it was obvious that students speaking anything from Bulgarian to Norwegian could not be accommodated without a common language, and it had been the lingua franca of the academic world for centuries (not to mention the basis for many incantations). 

No one had as yet invented a translating spell that didn't give the user a migraine within half an hour, so for once magic was not the solution. 

English, however – it seemed a strangely partisan choice. 

“How did the pure-bloods take to it?” Hermione asked, and Severus blanched. 

Valkeapää didn't seem to take offence, however. “Slowly. It was phased in so concerned parents could have their children taught the basics before they arrived. We always had language teachers, even in the Latin days – most children took to it pretty quickly. It's only in the last decades we have seen a language gap after Muggle-borns started to join.” 

The one thing everyone knew about Durmstrang was that Muggle-borns had not been allowed to attend before 1998. 

Severus had always wondered how they had checked. How could anyone be sure that their grandparents and great-grandparents really were whom they thought they were in the absence of DNA tests or fresh blood to brew potions with? He certainly knew better than to ask, however. 

Hermione frowned. “I would have thought most Muggle-borns would have some English already...” 

“Exactly.” Valkeapää favoured her with a rare smile. “It's the pure-bloods who have to catch up. An educational experience for everyone concerned.” 

“Quite.” Severus allowed himself the brief indulgence of picturing some of his least favourite parents – Lucius Malfoy being far from the worst example – finding their little darlings lagging behind the Muggle-borns by default. 

That was the sort of job satisfaction money could never buy. 

“We find the school constantly needs to find more ways to engage with Muggle society, not less. These days, young Muggles use English for far more than studying, and if we can keep our students connected with them, we may achieve some of our aims. Tell me, what does Hogwarts do to ensure its students are not disconnected from modern Muggle society once they enroll?” 

Straight to the jugular; Valkeapää really was quite similar to Minerva. 

Fortunately for Hogwarts, it had Hermione. While she rattled off specifics about the Electronics hut, Muggle Studies Field Days and Fantasy Football Leagues, full of honest enthusiasm (not completely dissimilar to a knowledgeable Arthur Weasley), Severus watched the Durmstrang headmistress like a hawk. 

He was well aware that the rest of Europe regarded the British response to the Dark Lord's emergences with... puzzlement, to describe it politely. It was generally felt that a Dark wizard rising to power once was excusable (Durmstrang was hardly in a position to throw any stones in that area), but twice was reckless. 

Looking around the bright, whitewashed classroom with colourful posters depicting magical theory, Severus hoped Valkeapää would not ask him for his considered opinion on the ability of the British wizarding establishment to prevent him from rising a third time, were it possible. 

The problem was... the problem was Lucius Malfoy, multiplied by a hundred. 

By himself, he posed no great risk to his fellow wizards, and could, in fact, be rather good company (defeat had been good for him). The issue arose when most of the important decisions were made by people like Lucius, or others who were in his pockets either by virtue of being paid or by being easily led. 

Lucius had as much awareness of how the other half lived as the average aristocrat in France before the revolution. Add to that his instinctive fear and contempt towards the Muggle world, and even wizards like Arthur Weasley who were predisposed to like Muggles had no idea how to interact with them. 

In previous generations, the old boy (and girl, in fairness to Dolores Umbridge and her fellow Ministry witches) network had been sufficient to dampen the impact young half-bloods and Muggle-borns like Hermione could have had. 

Hell, in Severus' day many half-bloods had carefully emulated the pure-bloods so their origins would not attract undue attention, and it had certainly not been only Slytherins either. 

Wizards in other countries were not any more stupid than their British neighbours (the evidence suggested rather less so, in fact), so they were as capable as Severus to evaluate the capabilities of the Ministry for Magic plus associated hangers-on, which was why Hermione currently was having to convince the headmistress of Durmstrang that things weren't done the old way anymore. Not with a nod and a wink and a slap on the back, meet you for drinks later. 

Not at Hogwarts, anyway, and Severus doubted very much Hermione would have left the Ministry if department heads still sorted out the important business down at their private table at the Leaky, the one that Muggle-borns weren't welcome at. 

“I understand,” Valkeapää said at the end of a description of the latest meeting of the Muggle-Born Parent-Teacher Association, grappling with the unique problem of identifying rogue Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes products before they were released on an unsuspecting population. 

Severus had come to recognise the expression on the parents of Muggle-borns towards the end of the first year. It was less awestruck or incredulous (depending on personal preferences) and wearier, as they realised that their beloved offspring could bring *anything* back from school. 

The look of being completely adrift, watching their child disappear to join a world where they could not follow, appeared less and less these days. 

“I understand Hilde has prepared a Powerpoint presentation on the Muggle Studies field trip program for you, Professor Granger – I understand you expressed an interest.” Valkeapää wrinkled her nose slightly as if she admitted the usefulness of presentations in general but would prefer them to remain outside her orbit. 

Severus knew the feeling well; along with the rest of the faculty, he had been subject to a half-day session with Hermione in the early days of her tenure. After a mysterious outbreak of dragon pox on the day the follow-up session had been scheduled, Minerva had reined her in a bit. 

“As for you, Professor Snape – may I offer a tour of the Potions garden?” 

Severus nodded, grateful any natural impulses to jump up and down on the spot had been squashed out of him at an early age. 

In select circles, the Durmstrang Potions supplies were legendary. Edges made a difference in magic; anything grown under the midnight sun would be extra potent. 

Add to that the rare arctic species and Severus was doomed to impotent envy even before one factored in that Hogwarts did not even possess any Potions gardens (“I'm sorry, Severus, but we really must upgrade the Divinations classroom this year. Sybil says only quality china is suitable, and it is quite a large order with all the expected breakages. Perhaps next year – oh. That's the next upgrade of the Quidditch pitch. Let's say the year after next, for definite.”).

* * *

“Not sure we've met – I'm Kamila Mazur, the Professor of Healing. Päivi – Professor Anttila – is on a beach somewhere in Mexico at the moment, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me.” 

Severus shook the proffered hand with its impeccably manicured red nails, trying to coax a suave smile to his lips. From extensive experimentation in his teenage years he knew it most likely looked like he had indigestion, but Minerva couldn't fault him for showing willing. 

Professor Mazur had no difficulty looking suave; she had the unconscious elegance of someone who was never unsure about anything at all, familiar to those who had spent a lot of time amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight. She wore her lack of knowledge about Potions plants easily, ceasing her haphazard observations when she noticed Severus paid little heed to them. 

They advanced down the neat rows of familiar plants before reaching the arctic section; fortunately, Mazur seemed to take more of an interest in local flora, rattling off their Latin names like a true Durmstrang graduate. 

Severus estimated the current altitude to be around a thousand metres, based on the vegetation he had observed during their picnic. He should have realised that the creators of this potions garden would not let that hold them back. What could only be described as mini-mountains surrounded the path; they were crowned by flowering plants at the same height as Severus' head, surrounded by a slight shimmer in the air that informed him it would be most unwise to attempt to touch anything. 

Mazur had no such compunctions. _“Ranunculus glacialis_. Glacier buttercup, I think it's called.” She stretched out her hand to pick a few of the delicate white flowers, holding them in the palm of her hand to show him. 

Severus leaned over it, sniffing delicately to get a whiff of the scent, only to get his face full of translucent otter. 

“The Headmistress has set up a Floo link to Hogwarts in her office,” it said with Hermione's voice. 

One wouldn't think an live otter would be able to look disdainful; that a manifestation of positive energy would manage to do so stretched credulity to breaking point. Nevertheless, somehow the Patronus conveyed that Severus rated somewhere below pond scum in its estimation without uttering another word.

* * *

Between Hermione's monosyllabic answers and Minerva's carefully formulated exhortations to be diplomatic (why did she expect they would do, complain about the food and go for a wee in the lake?), Severus was not averse to rejoining the Durmstrang faculty for a lakeside evening meal. He approved of the chairs and table that had been provided with this time, as well as the carefully placed warming charms. 

Enjoying the great outdoors was well and good, but one did not have to abandon all of civilisation behind. 

Severus' mood was further improved by Hermione having a long, technical discussion with Johansson about the distillation of vodka, of all things. He didn't care what they were talking about, as long as Langley-Witherstone was left hovering on the fringes. 

As long as they didn't bring out any samples; he was certain the local vodka had been magically enhanced. 

“ _Skål_ , everyone!” Valkeapää was standing up, holding a small glass up in the air.

Everyone else scrambled to their feet, finding the table laden with glasses that now were filled. A cacophony of “ _Skål_!”, “Cheers!” and “ _Nazdrávje_!” mingled with glasses clinking. 

Severus noticed the Scandinavians saluting everyone around the table with a nod, both before and after drinking. He locked eyes with Mazur, who didn't seem to bother with the nod. 

“Cheers, and meeting under the table,” she said. “Perhaps it won't take so long.”

“Perhaps,” Severus said, taking care to take only a very small sip of what he had realised was vodka. Again. Only it wasn't; there was a herbal twang to the flavour, and he tried a small mouthful. 

“It's _Angelica archangelica_. Wild celery,” Mazur said. “Used widely in Healing, at least here at Durmstrang.” 

“ _Rássi_ , I would call it,” Valkeapää said. “We could go on all day if we were to translate into everyone's languages. Now dinner is served, however.” 

Predictably, Langley-Witherstone had snagged the seat next to Hermione. He didn't seem to know her well enough to realise there was a false note to her laugh. 

Severus did, but when he chanced a look in her direction all the response he got was frosty disapproval. It was probably the vodka, but he would be damned if he let her tell him what to do. 

He took a defiant second mouthful – it really was an intriguing flavour – when all hell broke loose. 

“DRAGON!” someone screamed. 

“Take cover!” Valkeapää shouted. 

“It's coming this way!” 

Severus glared at the table blocking his way to Hermione for one split second and then Vanished it. One swift stride brought him to her side. Without speaking they turned to stand back to back, scanning the sky for incoming dragons. 

It was upon them almost as soon, coming from the same direction as the sun. 

“PROTEGO!” both Severus and Hermione shouted in unison. He felt a smidgen of pride that they acted together instinctively, creating a protective bubble large enough to cover the whole group. 

“We probably should have told you about the experimental breeding program –“ 

Valkeapää's voice was the last thing Severus heard before everything went blank.

* * *

Somebody was slapping him in the face. 

“Snape! Wake up!” 

They wanted him alive; that narrowed it down a bit. Unless it was someone with a grudge. 

“Professor Snape! Can you hear me?” 

What year was it? There was one reliable way to check, but it required opening his eyes. 

“He's awake, I can see his eyelids twitching.” The voice was reassuring; it meant _home_ and _I'm safe_ and something he couldn't quite untangle in his befuddled state. 

Hermione. 

He opened his eyes to look at his left arm. The Dark Mark was faded, like it had been for the last fifteen years. “It seems we survived the explosion. I hope our good fortune extends to everyone?” 

“Yes.” Someone had taken a firm hold of his right hand; the proximity of her voice told him it was Hermione. “Unfortunately a reindeer self-combusted inside the protective shield, but you got the worst of it. I'm sure our eyebrows will grow back soon.”

She did look a bit singed, but her eyes were the same as ever: brown and warm and full of her own brand of goodness that drove her to defend all bedraggled creatures. He must qualify as one of them at the moment because she had never held on to him this way before. 

Unfortunately for his own good, Severus was constitutionally incapable of enjoying the moment while it lasted. “What are my injuries? Other than the presumably non-fatal loss of facial hair?”

Hermione continued to hold his hand while Professor Mazur catalogued the consequences of his close encounter with the reindeer. Most of the injuries had been healed already, but as the Wizarding World still hadn't come up with any treatment for concussion other than rest he would be confined to his bed for a few days. 

“I assume a transfer to Hogwarts is out of the question unless you happen to have a magic carpet in storage?” 

Mazur looked hesitant for the first time in their acquaintance. “There is a way to avoid the drawbacks of the more instantaneous types of travel, but perhaps it would not be so appropriate...”


	5. Chapter 5

“I think she had a _tendre_ for you, but I'm afraid that will have been squashed out of her now.” Hermione patted his hand; she was still refusing to let go of completely, Severus noted in the part of his mind that was half-way functional.

“I will _not_ travel in a flying sleigh pulled by reindeers!”

“I think everyone knows that now, even those on the other side of the Finnish and Norwegian borders. You may have to inform the Russians by owl, however.” 

Severus belatedly realised it might behove him to consider his colleague's views on the matter, as she would also be stuck with him at Durmstrang for an additional two days. 

“Do you – I should ask whether you would be more comfortable returning to Hogwarts?” 

“But you're not actually asking me?” 

“I just did!”

“No, but let's not argue about that. I'm not going to leave you here.” The suspiciously modern-looking room he had been allocated in the Durmstrang equivalent of the hospital wing didn't seem to merit the no-man-left-behind mentality, but Severus was oddly comforted. 

“But your trip to Australia –“

“I've rearranged the International Portkey already. They've got Muggle phones here, so I'll give my parents a call too.” She dug a book out of her bag, opened it expertly with one hand and leaned back in her armchair, presenting all the appearance of a woman determined to remain for the foreseeable future. 

“Then I appear to be stuck with you.” Severus tried not to sound too cheerful. 

“Yes. Shouldn't you lie down and have a rest?” 

His head was quite sore, and the warmth of her smaller hand in his was too bewitching to resist. “Perhaps.”

* * *

“ – but the very best time is springtime when the snow is melting and the days are getting longer.“

Krum! 

Severus sat up, fumbling for his wand, and the headache hit just when he remembered why it was a bad idea to move too quickly. 

“Professor Snape.” Krum actually got up and bowed. “I hope you feel better now.” 

Severus moved his head minutely in acknowledgement. It still hurt like the blazes. “I am touched that our slight acquaintance translated into a visit to my sickbed.” It had not been lost on him that Krum had pulled his chair very close to Hermione's while he had been telling her about the wonders of the seasons changing. 

Her hand was no longer holding Severus'. He felt the loss acutely. 

“But of course – any such calumny befalling the Hero of the Battle of Hogwarts on the grounds of my old school must naturally be a cause of concern.” Krum looked very earnest, even under Severus' glare. 

“Unfortunately the pain has returned – I believe a thorough examination by a healthcare professional is required. Unless you have acquired any Healing credentials since leaving school, you may perhaps do me the favour of summoning one?” Severus asked with as much dignity as he could muster. 

It was a Pyrrhic victory; while Krum was driven off successfully, Langley-Witherstone took full advantage of the opportunity of accompanying Hermione on a walk to get some fresh air. 

Severus felt irrationally bereft as he sat propped up against his pillows, swallowing a long succession of Healing draughts. As soon as they went back, Hermione would return to their normal terms of interaction. 

She would not be holding his hand, nor announce her determination to remain by his side, and unless the political situation had deteriorated rapidly in their absence, there would be no call for her to stand back to back with Severus to face a common threat. 

He should be happy for her if she hit it off with Langley-Witherstone, a man so charming even Severus was hard-pressed to find fault with him. Yet, the thought caused a profound depression. 

It was alleviated somewhat when he woke up in the middle of the night to find Hermione snoring gently on the bed next to him. Her impossible hair spilt over the pillow, hanging down the side of the bed, and her bare feet stuck out on the other side of the duvet. The brightness from the vast landscape outside that wasn't quite sunlight illuminated every curl of her hair; even the faint laughter lines around her eyes showed. 

Severus lay very still, listening to the soft sound of the human being he lo- liked the best sleeping next to him. Despite his aching head, it was the happiest he could remember being. 

He must have dozed off because the next time he looked at her bed she was gone. Panic seized him momentarily before his grasping fingers found his wand at the same time as he noticed movement by the shadows at the end of Hermione's bed. 

She disentangled herself from the duvet and tiptoed out of the room. 

Laying back to stare at the ceiling, Severus decided the ball of misery currently residing in his abdomen had no business there. What had he been expecting, a declaration of eternal love prompted by an exploding reindeer? 

Things were as they should be. 

Hermione was enjoying the midnight sun with somebody her own age, somebody who was worthy of her. The only question was whether she had chosen the charming aristocrat or the world-famous Quidditch player, who also happened to be one of Durmstrang's most talented students in recent decades. 

Meanwhile, Severus was stuck in another hospital wing, bemoaning his fate. Even he was tired of the whining at this stage. He closed his eyes, willing himself to go to sleep. If he did, his headache might improve, and they may finally escape this place where there wasn't even decent darkness. 

His dungeons had never seemed more appealing.

* * *

Hermione was there again when he woke up, disgustingly fresh-faced despite her nocturnal excursions. 

“Good morning, Severus. I was thinking we might visit the ramparts if you're feeling up to it?”

“Will you not be busy developing international relations?” Severus asked surlily. It went well of the mark. 

“It's half past eleven, I've already done a session with Professor Zimmermann this morning. Professor Mazur recommended some fresh air.” Hermione made a face that made him wonder if she would rather consort with one of her admirers than shepherd the invalid up on the roof, but she seemed cheerful enough on the way up the stairs. 

A judiciously applied Floating Charm ensured he didn't exhaust himself unduly, and once they had reached the top of the main tower of Durmstrang, not even Severus was in a mood to complain. 

The stark expanse of hill and stone and valleys with water flashing with the reflection of the sun. He finally understood why Nerida Vulchanova had walked to the edge of the continent before finding the right place for her school. There was space for magic of the mind here, space for it to grow like the delicate mountain flowers in the Potions garden hundreds of feet below them. 

“I've wanted to bring you here ever since Viktor showed it to me,” Hermione said, quite unconsciously shattering his peace in a thousand pieces. 

“Did he,” Severus said with absolutely no inflexion. He went unheard; Hermione was clearly a woman on a mission. 

“When he did, I decided I would do it before we left.” 

“Do what, exactly?” Severus asked, highly alarmed. Surely she could not be asking him for advice on her sex life? Apart from everything else, it must be patently obvious he did not have any expertise to offer in that area. 

“This.” She stepped closer, then closer again, until she virtually was wrapped in his robes. Just as Severus was seriously debating whether she had lost her senses, she proved it by taking a firm hold on his shoulders to stand on her toes and kiss him. 

For one brief moment, Severus acted on instinct. His hands found their way around her waist and he pressed her body against his, cataloguing the taste of her mouth and the smell of her hair with the assurance of a master of his craft. He was less proficient in the art of kissing, but if his machinations transmitted any of the desire burning through his own veins to her, it would have to be classed as a success. 

Regrettably, reality intruded and Severus recalled the litany of reasons why this was a terrible idea. He latched onto anger from the smorgasbord of feelings threatening to boil over. 

“Don't think I'll take whatever crumbs you deign to throw at me.” He pushed her away, taking a step backwards for good measure. Fortunately, they had been standing some steps away from the edge or it may have been a very short conversation. 

Hermione examined him through narrowed eyes. “You didn't seem to complain just now.” 

It was hard to sound dignified under the circumstances, but he tried valiantly. “I was taken unawares.” 

“Fine. If I were to arrange a time in advance, would you be more amenable?” 

Was she mocking him? 

“Kindly desist – I just told you your attentions are not welcome.” 

She turned rather pale, or perhaps it was a trick of the light. “You did, didn't you?” she said slowly. “Using a rather interesting choice of words, especially for someone who never speaks without considering the effect carefully.” 

Severus was furious and frightened at the same time. Exactly how much of himself had he betrayed, and what business had she to be thoughtful and not at all put off by his reaction?

Hermione was looking pinker and considerably more cheerful. “Right. I think we need to talk. Perhaps not here, though.”

Severus replied to that with icy silence. He maintained it all the way down to the hospital wing, and through the afternoon and night, unbending only to speak to their hosts. 

Hermione had done considerable progress on negotiating the final sticking points of the Durmstrang-Hogwarts cooperation agreement while he had been unconscious; Severus also noted that it seemed to have done their negotiation position no harm to have incurred injuries on foreign ground. 

Part of him wondered if the Durmstrang contingent had orchestrated the whole thing to evaluate their response to immediate danger. He conceded they probably could not have foreseen his own idiotic actions, so it was unlikely. 

The final part of their visit entailed a brief visit from Minerva; she looked expectantly at them as she smoothed down her robes after the tribulation of getting an International Portkey. 

Severus maintained a stony silence as Hermione smiled and nodded; Minerva gave one sharp nod in her return as she proceeded to scrutinise the draft agreement. It was purely for show as Severus knew for a fact she had spent last night reading it, but formalities had to be observed. 

That was why there were several newspaper journalists and their pet photographers present; an agreement between two of the foremost European schools of magic would give rise to a lot of press interest. 

If that didn't bring Beauxbatons to Hogwarts and Durmstrang post haste looking for its own agreement, Severus would eat his wand; they would almost be back to the burgeoning possibilities from before the Tri-Wizard agreement descended into chaos. 

The Durmstrang staff were lined up against the wall behind Valkeapää, who was seated next to Minerva, and Severus noticed Langley-Witherstone giving Hermione a completely inappropriate wink. 

Severus seized his chance as the other occupants oh-ed and ah-ed as Minerva's scratchy handwriting sealed the agreement. They would return to Hogwarts imminently, and he would have to bottle up all his tiresome feelings and return to normal. 

There was just one thing he had to find out first. 

As if on cue, he spotted a hairy monobrow at the back of the room. Clearly, Krum couldn't keep himself away. 

“Which one is it?” Severus demanded to know. His voice was barely audible, but it carried the tone of authority that would make even teenage Gryffindors sit up and pay attention. He was standing next to Hermione by the wall, behind Minerva and close to Valkeapää. 

“I saw you sneak out –“ he continued, before coming to an abrupt stop. He hadn't seen the expression of absolute dread on Hermione's face for many years. 

The public setting he just had decided to exploit seemed intolerable; he never wanted to see that look on her face again, never mind being responsible for it. 

“Look at me,” she whispered, and nothing could have stopped him from doing as she asked. 

He dove headlong into her mind, seeing a dimly lit excursion through the sleeping castle. A frantic search, followed by a quick return clutching something in her hands. 

Severus returned to the present and realised he had absolutely no idea what game they were playing, but that he had better start paying attention. 

He maintained a stolid appearance through the short ceremony and the flurry of photographs. When Minerva started moving towards the lavishly decorated goblet that served as a Portkey, Severus did his best to expedite matters. 

He even slapped Johansson on the back as the most efficient way to conclude their goodbyes. The other wizard looked surprised, but pleased. “Come and visit us again, eh? You haven't even spent a night here yet!” Laughing at his own joke, Johansson released a grateful Severus who came eye to eye with Langley-Witherstone. 

“Don't be a fool,” the younger man told him, and Severus started. “Pride won't keep you warm at night.” For once, there was reserve in Langley-Witherstone's manner. 

Severus merely raised his eyebrows in response, his mind whirling with the possibilities. Now was not the time or place, however, so he continued to make his way down the line of Durmstrang teachers. 

Finally, Minerva bowed to Valkeapää, who had donned her colourful embroidered robes again. Power vibrated between the two women. It wasn’t just magic, but also the confidence and command that came with being at the height of one’s powers. 

“Farewell, until we meet again.”

“ _Råekebe._ ” Valkeapää bent slightly to include Hermione and Severus in her greeting. “Farewell, and may we meet again.”

* * *

The Portkey trip was predictably awful, particularly when coupled with his recent concussion. It faded into insignificance compared to the mystery he was faced with, however - what was the mysterious object Hermione had retrieved? 

Minerva made a straight line for her desk, sinking into the heavy armchair. “We’ll all feel better for a cup of tea – Portkeys never agreed with my constitution. Did you get the book, my dear?”

Severus had enough of being ignored. “Sod the tea! What book?” 

“This one,” Hermione said with a self-satisfied smile, holding up a battered volume. 

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Minerva said, setting out the three cups an obliging house-elf placed in front of her. “Shall I pour?”

“ _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ ,” Severus read over Hermione’s shoulder. “I thought the only known copy was here at Hogwarts. Under lock and key,” he added meaningfully, having participated in a blazing argument with Minerva about what to do with what essentially was a method to Make Your Own Horcrux In Ten Easy Steps (provided one didn’t mind the bloodshed, but what would-be Dark Lord ever did, as long as it belonged to someone else?).

“Turns out there are two copies,” Hermione explained, handing the book to Severus to pour milk into her tea. “Karkaroff found the second one before he was killed. He may have been on the way to find out the truth about Voldemort, or just looking for leverage.” 

Severus eyed the tea dubiously. It could hardly make him feel worse, could it? “Leverage?” 

“It was carefully annotated by one H. Slughorn. Do you remember what Horace was doing in 1996? Whatever it was, he was presumably as well-connected as ever.” Minerva pushed a cup to him while speaking, ending his internal debate. 

Hermione held out the ex libris for inspection. “I bet this was the original copy from the Restricted Section – Professor Dumbledore must have tracked down the one in his office by himself.” 

Damn Minerva, she had been right again – the tea made Severus’ brain splutter into gear at last. “What made you think it was at Durmstrang? How did you even know it existed?” 

“Our esteemed governor Mr Malfoy approached me on a thorny issue once he became aware of my plans to expand our ties to Durmstrang. He had come across some papers left by Karkaroff, which suggested the book had been hidden at the school.” 

Severus groaned – this had Lucius’ fingerprints all over it. He couldn’t fault Minerva for wanting to save Horace from being embroiled in a scandal if any of this came out, but there were ways and means. 

“I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why you only are telling me of this now.” 

“Viktor,” Hermione said somewhat incoherently, due to her simultaneously taking a bite of a biscuit. 

Minerva came to her aid. “I prefer not to dwell on the personal lives of my colleagues, but I must admit I would be surprised to find that you have a preference for burly Bulgarian Quidditch players. Hermione, however, could plausibly find excuses to roam Durmstrang with Mr Krum.” 

“I find it hard to believe you were able to mount an effective search while cavorting with Krum,” Severus said, shock temporarily short-circuiting his brain. 

“That’s why I told him in advance, of course. He’s a close friend of mine and was happy to help, especially as he didn’t want more attention to be focused on Karkaroff. Many of the students who attended Durmstrang during his tenure are deeply ashamed of their former headmaster.” 

Was it his imagination, or had she been stressing the ‘friend’? Severus head was spinning, trying to evaluate the last week from an entirely unforeseen vantage point. “So the accord is just a pretext?” 

“Of course not. The advantages of cooperation are quite real, particularly now that we don’t have the Damocles sword of a senior member of staff being exposed for practising the darkest of the Dark Arts hanging over us.” Minerva looked pensive, a sure warning sign to the wary observer. 

“We definitely ought to look into the weekly boarding – the reduced wear and tear on the school buildings will certainly appeal to the governors. Well done, you two,” she added belatedly, nodding to Severus and Hermione. 

“That’s it, then?” Severus asked, just to be sure. From his personal point of view, there was an Erumpent of epic proportions in the room, but he was damned if he was going to discuss his personal affairs in front of Minerva. 

She could always give him a cup of tea with a dram once his wild hopes inevitably had been extinguished – there was no need to rush things. 

“So it appears. You had better ask Hermione to walk you down to the dungeons, you’re still looking a bit white around the gills.”

* * *

Hermione made an aborted movement in Minerva's direction, as if she was going to hug the older witch for giving her a reason to remain with Severus. A man could dream, anyway.

“Viktor was telling me all about his latest girlfriend,” Hermione said pointedly as they walked down the circular staircase from the Headmistress’ office. “He’s keeping it quiet due to the inevitable publicity, but it’s going well.”

Severus said nothing as they emerged on the ground floor. He was having an epiphany: perhaps a lifetime of missed chances could actually be turned around. Hermione had laid her cards on the table with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Considering that she most certainly would have considered the consequences of being rejected and yet persevered, all the evidence pointed in one direction...

“The Durmstrang ramparts were… interesting,” Severus said, making her jump. ”At Hogwarts, we have dungeons.” He was looming over her in the near-darkness. “Their main attraction is that they are seldom visited by anyone who does not either live or work there. One can be completely undisturbed. Day... or night.”

Hermione stepped closer, her eyes wide and her hands reaching for him before she let them drop. That was what did it – the little show of uncertainty, the kink in her armour showing she was just as wary as he was but doing it anyway.

"'Will you walk into my parlour?'” he asked, one eyebrow lifted as a door appeared where there previously only had been roughly hewn stones.

“I thought you'd never ask,” she said.

Severus felt like he was soaring into the air like a rising phoenix. He wondered if that was what it was like for Gryffindors every time one of their reckless gambles paid off.

The door swung open. Very soon, so did her arms.

****

**THE END**


End file.
